


I really do

by mikhailosbitch



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Drunk Ian Gallagher, EMT Mickey, Gallavich Gift Exchange 2017, M/M, Role Reversal, different first meeting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 07:40:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13430049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikhailosbitch/pseuds/mikhailosbitch
Summary: Gallavich Gift Exchange 2017Ian might be drunk and some assholes call an ambulance for him.





	I really do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [engmaresh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/engmaresh/gifts).



> Hey!  
> It's me again, again with a story for the Gallavich Gift Exchange 2017 written for @engmaresh!  
> I had quite some ideas to choose from with this fic and I ended up going with grumpy Mickey who's actually a great EMT and Ian being his patient.  
> Since I filled in for someone who signed up for the exchange but didn't participate I didn't have much time for this and couldn't include many of my your wishes but I hope you like it anyway!
> 
> As always, I'm sorry for the mistakes, English isn't my first language.

Ian knows he has some issues.   
The biggest one, probably, is his bipolar disorder. Another is his stubbornness.  
And right now, Ian is getting the first-hand experience that the combination of the two will end in… well, most likely something not-so-great.  
  
The world is doing a weird turn to the left, like the floor under his feet is switching places with the wall and Ian barely grabs hold of the rendering of the building that limits one side of the dark alley he’s standing in before he can crash face-first into the grimy ground beneath him.   
Yeah, he’s definitely a bit drunk.  
It takes a little while until his surroundings stop spinning and Ian doesn’t feel like he’s going to trip any second. The wall he’s still holding onto is rough against his palm but it provides some sort of poor though badly-needed steadiness so Ian will happily take it. He just has to grab onto this wall until the end of the street and after that it is only three blocks till he reaches his house, nothing major, and it’s not like he was never drunk before.  
Stumbling through the barely illuminated alley his brain vaguely reminds him of the fact that he hasn’t had that much to drink since he started taking his meds but whatever, the damage is done and he feels good so who cares.   
He reaches the end of the street where it leads onto a bigger road. Ian takes a deep breath, flushing his body with cold air in the hopes that it will clear his head a little. No such luck. His vision is blurred and the ground won’t stop swaying like he’s on a boat in a storm. A little alarm bell starts ringing in his head, announcing that maybe he should have stuck to his one regular beer but he feels so good. Sure, he’s walking with the pace of a ninety-year-old lady but he can hear music playing from the club he’s passing and there are colorful lights coming from the signs hanging above all the dingy establishments that litter the street so Ian doesn’t mind taking a little longer to head home.   
Actually… maybe he should check out this club. The heavy bass of the music thumping trough the night knocks at the insides of his skull, the cheering crowd in the club pulls at him like a siren and Ian stumbles to the left, eager to find the entrance to this party but suddenly there is a high-pitched shriek and a shove and then his cheek collides with something wet, solid and cold.   
Fuck, this might be the sidewalk.  
  
Ian barely registers an arm slinging around his shoulders followed by a poor attempt of helping him up. They feel slim and weak and he would guess they belong to a woman but somewhere along the way his eyes have fallen shut and opening them to check seems like way too much effort at the moment.   
Actually, it's quite nice here, no more spinning, just the cooling ground against his back. It's probably soaking his shirt with mud right now but Ian can't bring himself to care. Just five minutes, then he'll get up and head home.  
Ian is perfectly content with this plan but unfortunately the arms are still tugging at him, now accompanied with a loud and growling voice. If Ian had to guess he'd say the arms and the voice do not belong to the same person but in his current condition he wouldn't swear on that. Either way, both the voice and the arms don't seem to want him laying on the street. Why not?  
  
  
Suddenly the arms are gone but they get replaced with something that sounds like an argument taking place right above his head.  
"He can't just plant his drunk ass right in front of the entrance of my club and obviously you can't drag him out of here so please lady, lemme handle this!"  
  
Ian feels a sharp pain in his side and resists the urge to curl in on himself. He's drunk, but not a pussy.  
Though he's too wasted to kick back, let alone get up and put the fucker in his place.  
There's another kick into his guts, fuck that hurts, but then a girly voice, probably the tiny arms, screams something about assholes who don't even have the decency not to kick someone who's already on the ground.  
Maybe he should phrase a Thank you to that girl. Seems appropriate since she seems to be saving him from a beat down.  
He opens his mouth to tell her how grateful he is but his brain-tongue connection must be a bit disturbed by the alcohol because all he manages is "sssanks".  
Well, that will have to do.  
He isn't sure if the girl heard him, she doesn't say anything back to him and he wonders if he can try again and would get a better outcome but this train of thought is abandoned when she speaks again.   
  
"We should call an ambulance" she says and Ian decides she can shove his thank you up her ass.   
He doesn't need a fucking ambulance, Jesus. He's just a little drunk, thanks to his stubborn self that didn't want to seem like the total lightweight he is in front of his coworkers. He used to be able to battle with Lip but those days are over since he swallows three pills every day.  
But that doesn't mean he's ready to be carted off in the fucking bambalance.  
He tells them exactly that.   
"Ay don' nee' a fuckin' abulanc'. Cantake car'of maself." That didn't sound too bad.  
Unfortunately bitch with weak arms and her boyfriend or whatever the fuck the guy next to her is don't look convinced if his blurry vision is anything to go by and is that a fucking phone the guy's holding to his ear?!  
Ian attempts a beeline to rip the stupid thing out of the fucker's grasp but halfway on the way up to his feet he crashes back down because the world is spinning, worse than before. Fuck.  
  
He's vaguely aware of the guy talking to someone while he tries to focus on the wet sidewalk. There is an old piece of gum stuck to the concrete right in front of him and he uses it as a fix-point to make everything a little more steady before he will try again to get up and take off before the ambulance gets here.  
  
Though he somehow must have lost track of time because suddenly he hears a siren and there is blue and red lights flushing down the street and before be knows it the ambulance has stopped right in front of Ian and his fucking wanna-be guards and two EMTs hop out of the vehicle.   
  
"Hello! You're the ones that called?" One of them, a woman Ian's alcohol-induced brain supplies, greets the asshole who busted him and his chick.   
And well, then Ian's attention is occupied otherwise because the other EMT crouches in front of him and places a a familiar-looking bag next to them. It's all familiar, only that Ian's usually on the other side, wearing his blue uniform.  
  
"Hey, can you hear me?" The EMT asks, which somehow works way better than the gum stuck to the ground to make him focus. Well, as far as he _can_ focus at the moment.  
Lifting his head, Ian's eyes land on the person in front of him and holy shit, even blurred and in the darkness the guy's a sight to look at. So he does.  
  
"Yo, you deaf? Or just too shitfaced to answer?"   
  
"Give him a break, kid's obviously had a few." The EMT woman has joined them, crouching down as well.   
  
"No shit," the guy says, rolling his eyes.  
  
"'m nodda kid" Ian hears himself mumble, "Twenny-one ssso yougan lea'"   
  
"Yeah, okay," the woman retorts, clearly not believing a word. Ian opens his mouth to tell her that she can check his ID so they can all just move on and stop this shit but before his, admittedly not very fast-working brain, has scrambled for the right words to form a halfway coherent sentence the guy interrupts his thoughts.  
  
"I don't give a fuck if you're underage or not, we just need to know how much you have had."  
  
Ian is shortly hung up on his choice of words, he's pretty sure he talks a little differently to his patients when he's working but man, that voice. Deep and rough and yet somewhat smooth. He's pretty sure he's never heard a voice like that before.  
  
Ian wants to hear it again and since he's forgotten what the guy said he's gonna have to tell him again.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"I said, how much did you fucking drink?" He sounds irritated and his eyebrows are furrowed, putting his face in a frown that makes him look pissed off and, if Ian didn't know better, a bit worried.  
  
Okay yes, it takes a little time till the question makes its way to his brain and his mouth forms an answer but he gets there and Ian is a little proud of himself because really, the view in front of him is slightly distracting and doesn't help his already disturbed ability to concentrate at all. The guy's black hair is buzzed short but a little longer on top and his skin is pale but littered with faint freckles around his nose. Oh god.  
  
"Vodka. Three o' four."  
  
There's a hiccup making its way up his throat and there's a good chance it'll bring some of that vodka with it. Shit, fuck, okay never mind. False alarm.   
The EMT eyes him warily.   
"You not gonna puke, are ya?"  
  
His colleague rolls her eyes. "Jeeze, Mickey."  
  
Mickey. So that's his name. Ian feels the corners of his mouth tug upwards. He likes that name.  
  
"Can you tell me your name?" the woman asks.   
  
"Ian. Gallagh'"  
  
"Galla- what?"  
  
"Gallagher," Mickey beats Ian to it, "Isn't it?"  
  
"Yeah." He must be grinning like an idiot.  
  
"Okay, Mr Gallagher I need to know if you have taken anything. Drugs, any kind of medication," Mickey says. He's put a hand on Ian's arm and it makes him feel oddly grounded.  
  
"'s Ian."   
  
"Okay Ian, did you take anything?"  
  
Ian closes his eyes, trying to remember if he smoked weed or something like that while he was drinking earlier. He knows there is something. Something he should tell EMT Mickey. But what was it?  
  
Oh, right.   
  
"Ya, 'm bipolar. Go' s'me meds."  
  
He feels a wave of shame creep through his body. Drunk mental case has to get picked up by the paramedics because he's too wasted to get home alone. Well done, Ian.  
  
Though Mickey doesn't look like there is a reason to be ashamed. He just tilts his head, eyes on Ian, his grip slightly tightening.   
"What kind of medication? And how much?"  
  
Ian lists, or more like slurs, off the kinds and amount of pills he swallows every day and the female EMT writes them down on a notepad.   
  
"Ian, I need you to blow into this breathalyzer, okay?"  
  
Mickey is holding a weird-looking plastic thingy under his chin. "Come on, Gallagher, we don't got all night."  
  
Ian breathes in as deep as he can and blows the air out of his lungs into the breathalyzer. Mickey checks it and lets out a huff. "You're drunk as shit, man but nothing dangerous."  
  
"Ssssee?" Ian says, "All good." He starts another attempt to get up because seriously he has embarrassed himself enough in front of this guy. Fuck, if they met differently he would totally try to flirt with him. Oh shit, wrong direction of thoughts. Now the idea of flirting is stuck in his head.  
  
"Ay, you're not going anywhere, Gallagher," Mickey says, gripping his shoulder and forcing him back down. It's firm and yet gentle and Ian kinda doesn't want him to let go. "We still gotta check how much of an impact the meds have."  
  
"Gimme the flashlight," Mickey orders his colleague who hands a tiny silver thing to him. Mickey places one hand on the side of Ian's face and carefully tugs at his eyelid to get a better look at Ian's pupils.  
The light is blinding on one eye but through the other he can see Mickey's illuminated face and he can't help but stare. Mickey's eyes are beautiful. An intense and piercing blue, steady and concentrated. Taking care of him. His calloused palm warm against Ian's cheek.  
  
"Your' preddy" Ian mumbles before he can stop his drunk tongue. Jesus Christ.  
  
"Fuck off, you're shitfaced" is all Mickey retorts but Ian could swear there is the hint of a blush creeping up his neck.  
  
They fuss over him a little longer but Ian doesn't really notice or care, he's busy watching Mickey through half-lidded eyes because seriously, you gotta enjoy while you can.  
Only that he wants to enjoy for longer than this whole calling an ambulance thing.  
  
"Alright man, you're okay. Got anyone to pick you up? Ain't gotta go to the hospital but you're in no shape to get home on your own." Mickey says when they're done examining him.  
  
Yeah, well. They got a problem then. As far as Ian remembers the whole Gallagher clan is out  tonight. With Lip in college in another state, Carl never answering his phone and Fiona on a trip with her latest boy toy there is no one to get him. He's not gonna call his teenage sister who also happens to be a mom in the middle of the night.  
  
"'s fine. I'an walk," he assures Mickey and the other EMT but the guy's not having that.  
"Bullshit you can walk," Mickey replies and sighs. "Come on, we'll drop your lanky ass off at your house."  
  
Ian wants to protest, he really does but Mickey slings an arm around his shoulders and drags him up to his feet and even though everything is spinning again he can't complain. Mickey's a good bit shorter than him but he holds Ian's body up like it's nothing and Ian can feel the muscles beneath his uniform.  
  
As if that's not already enough Mickey smells good. Like really good. Amazing actually so he buries his nose in the crook of Mickey's neck.  
Who gives a shit if this is weird, he's drunk and dizzy and cold and Mickey is sober and steady and warm. Hot actually. This is nice, Ian thinks, closing his eyes and breathing Mickey's smell in.  
  
"Jesus Christ," Mickey mutters and gently pulls up his shoulder, forcing Ian to lift his head, "Stop this shit and focus on not puking on my boots."  
Despite his harsh words Mickey guides him patiently to the back of the ambulance, letting Ian take his time, all the while keeping an arm around him of make sure he doesn't fall.  
  
Somehow they make it inside the vehicle where Mickey helps him get onto the stretcher and secures him with the belts that Ian has so often fastened around his own patients. They don't feel as uncomfortable as he thought they would but maybe that's just because he's drunk.  
  
"Where do you live?" The woman is standing in the still open doors of the ambulance, shooting him a questioning look.   
Well, fuck.  
  
"Uhm…" he stutters, desperately searching for his address in every corner of his brain. Nothing. The alcohol in his veins is keeping it somewhere he can't reach at the moment.  
  
Mickey must have noticed the lost look on his face because he groans "You gotta be fuckin' kidding me!"  
  
It's silent for a minute and Ian tries to make himself as small as possible on the stretcher. Even he, wasted as he is, knows that this is pretty fucking embarrassing. But while the part of his brain that's not completely abandoned every last bit of sensibility wonders what the he'll they're gonna do now, the other, and to be honest, bigger part rather devotes itself to the miracle that is Mickey's eyebrows which are climbing up his forehead.  
  
He snaps out of his haze when Mickey gently slaps his cheek. "Hey Gallagher, I'm talking to you!"  
Seems like Ian missed a couple seconds.  
"Sssorry, whaddaya say?"  
  
Mickey rolls his eyes again but his reply makes Ian feel like a teenager with too many hormones because it's not normal to feel this giddy after hearing that, no matter how drunk he is.  
  
"You can come to my place. Sleep it off, head home in the morning. That okay with you?"  
  
"Yessss." He stops himself just in time from adding "Totally".  
  
Mickey talks to his coworker about how their shift is over anyway and that she will do the check out and stuff but Ian is barely listening, he's busy staring at Mickey's face again while exhaustion is coming over him like a big blanket.  
He must have dozed off a minute because the next thing he knows is that Mickey's head is hovering above him.   
  
"Don't fall asleep on me, man. I ain't gonna carry you inside."  
  
"Will try" he mumbles. But shit, he's already half-asleep again. In order to keep himself from passing out he starts talking. Which is probably not a good idea since he doesn't want to spook Mickey any more than he already has but his mouth doesn't really seem to care.  
  
"I'm 'n EMT too, yer know."  
  
There it is, the eyebrow raise. It makes Ian smile.  
  
"Oh, yeah? Where?"  
  
Ian tells him his station and Mickey grins a little when he says "But you better be off-duty tonight, right?"  
  
"Ya," Ian confirms. And then, because he's a stupid shitfaced gay as fuck loser he says, "I like ya face."  
  
But actually it's totally worth it because there is the blush again and Mickey ducks his head and Ian's smile gets even wider.  
  
"You already said that and I told you to cut it out."  
  
"It's true, though" is all Ian gets out before sleep finally wins and he's out cold.  
  
  
  
  
____  
  
  
  
  
Ouch.  
  
Fuck.  
  
The second Ian wakes up he wishes he didn't. He hasn't even opened his eyes yet and he can already feel the pounding headache knocking, or more like kicking, against his skull and his mouth feels like he ate a pound of cotton.   
This is gonna be one hell of a hangover.  
Ian slowly opens his eyes, afraid of the light that's probably gonna hurt like a bitch when it hits his pupils, only to find himself in almost darkness.  
Squinting he takes in his surroundings. He's laying in a queen sized bed, a blanket tucked around him. The curtains are closed, keeping most of the light out and on the nightstand there is a glass of water and several pill bottles.   
Ian recognizes three of his orange pill containers that he keeps with him at all times and he wonders how the he'll he's got here.  
Did he hook up with someone?   
Scrambling through his mind he tries to remember the previous night. Nothing. The last thing he knows, before waking up, is the vodka that he downed with his coworkers. Well that explains something at least.  
It also explains why suddenly there's bile rising in his throat. He needs to find a toilet right now.  
Stumbling and almost crashing into the wall he gets up, ignores the sharp pain that elicits in his head. Hand on his mouth he opens the door to his right and rushes out of the room.  
  
There is a girl sitting at the table of what appears to be a living room. She takes one look at him and points to the left.   
  
When Ian is done heaving up the remains of alcohol in his body he drinks what feels like a gallon of water straight from the faucet, wincing at the jolts of pain shooting through his brain at every move he makes.  
  
There's a knock at the door. "You okay?"   
  
Ian turns off the faucet and straightens his sore body. He looks like absolute shit, pale and tired but he does feel a slight bit better than before.  
  
"Yeah" he says and opens the door.   
The girl is standing in front of him, eyeing him from head to toe like he's some very interesting exhibit in a museum.  
She is thin with prominent cheekbones and bangs. Her black hair is tied up in a bun on top of her head and her blue eyes pierce through him like they could cut bones.  
For some reason she looks oddly familiar.  
  
"Who the fuck are you?" she asks though she sounds rather curious than angry.  
  
"Uhm, my name is Ian. And you are?"  
  
"Mandy" the girl says, still staring at him, not in the slightest bit concerned that it's making him squirm in uneasiness.  
  
"Well Mandy, you got any idea what I'm doing in your apartment? Because I'm kinda having trouble with this one."  
  
At that the girl, Mandy, shoots him an amused look.  
"Not sure, all I know is that my brother carried your drunk ass in at four in the morning, waking me up from an amazing dream."  
  
"Oh," Ian says, because he still doesn't remember a thing, "sorry for waking you, I guess."  
  
Mandy smirks at him. "No worries. You got my brother to bring you here so you gotta be a catch."  
  
Before Ian can reply something the front door opens and a guy waltzes in, a bag with groceries in his hand and a cigarette between his lips.   
  
"Brought you some hangover breakfast" he says and Ian is pretty sure he's heard that voice before. And has seen that guy before.  
  
"You don't remember shit, do you?" the guy asks with a smirk.  
  
"Uhm, no, yeah, I don't know," Ian stutters and then, following a sudden instinct he says, "You're Mickey. And you're an EMT." That's about all he remembers though but it's enough to let the smirk on Mickey's face transform into a full on smile. And well, if Ian didn't have it bad for the guy before he definitely has now.  
  
  
  
  
  
____  
  
  
  
  
"You make me happy."  
  
Ian's insides turn into a warm and fuzzy mess as he hears Mickey's words.  
They're laying in Mickey's bed, fully dressed his drunk boyfriend underneath him, hands cupping Ian's face and blue eyes looking right into his own.  
  
"I love you," Ian says without thinking.   
  
Shit, fuck, no no no no no!   
It's obviously true but Ian isn't sure how Mickey is going to react to the words actually being said out loud.  
  
Ian anxiously looks at Mickey, waiting for the blow up. For a second there is panic on Mickey's face but it's quickly followed by a look of surprise and then something that Ian can't describe but that makes his heart want to burst.   
  
There is no sound other than their mingled breaths and Ian can smell the alcohol on Mickey's.  
Ian brings his hand up to Mickey's jaw, his thumb brushing over Mickey's cheeks.  
"I really do," he whispers, like it's a secret even though it's not.  
  
Mickey's still looking at him, his eyes a little glassy from the alcohol but Ian knows that he's fully present, aware of what Ian's saying and his gaze is so open and trusting that Ian has to swallow around the lump forming in his throat.  
  
"I'm really fucking glad that about half a year ago I got piss drunk and someone called an ambulance," he adds and that makes Mickey smile.  
  
"You don't even remember much of that."  
  
"Shut up, Mick."  
  
And Mickey does because Ian captures Mickey's lips with his own. Mickey opens his mouth and lets Ian in, their tongues meet and Ian squeezes his eyes shut because it's almost too much.   
  
He tastes like smoke, whiskey and something that Ian can only describe as Mickey.  
Ian's home is a person.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a sucker for feedback. No matter the kind.


End file.
